


Indelible Ink

by fiftysevenacademics (rapiddescent)



Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Richard II - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Christmas, Cousins, Family Drama, Gen, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3233513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapiddescent/pseuds/fiftysevenacademics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pot of spilled ink summons a childhood memory that piques Henry IV's guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indelible Ink

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2014 Shakespeare Advent Event on Tumblr Day 21 prompt: Relatives

Henry starts to sign his name at the bottom of a letter to the King of France. He seems to send a lot of these. Sometimes the ships sink on their way across the Channel, or the messengers meet with misfortune on the road, and he has months of wondering what the lack of reply means, and whether he should try again or just raise an army and attack. This time he’s sending a second letter, which he suspects might be a waste of time, and the thought wearies him. There are always letters to send, documents to sign, orders to give.

If it weren’t a letter to a king, it would be to one of his dukes or government officials, or maybe his own son, Hal, if the messengers could ever find which rough stew he’s holed up in this time. He really should send someone to drag that boy in. Christmas is nearly here and he needs all his sons, but most especially, the heir to his throne, to give an impression of dynasty at the festivities he has planned. Will Hal cooperate this time?

His hand moves angrily on the parchment and accidentally bumps the ink pot, which spills all over the letter, and drenches one corner of his sleeve. He quickly pushes his chair out of the way, and, while someone fetches a rag to mop up the mess, the ink’s earthy, metallic scent reaches him: Oak gall, copper, gum arabic, wine, and something else, something indescribable, something he feels, rather than smells.

**********************

It’s his first Christmas in Richard’s household. He’s been sent to be brought up alongside his cousin, who, through a quirk of fate, has become king, even though he is only ten years old, and not nearly as good at sports as Henry. He beats Richard every time in their races and fights with wooden swords. He won’t let Richard win, just because he’s king. He’d never say this out loud, but secretly, he thinks a king should be a warrior, an athlete, a man of action, and doesn’t entirely believe his cousin is cut out for the job. But he is quick-witted and enjoys having fun. He likes Henry, and makes for good company sometimes.

No amount of affection from Richard, however, can requite his longing for his own family. He thinks of the sights and smells of his father’s household at Christmas, how similar some of them are to those in the royal household he’s in now, and yet, so different. He’s not going to see any of his family, nor his playmates, or even his favorite dogs. He doesn’t cry about this, not even when he’s alone, but the loss settles in his gut like a black pearl.

He’s with Richard and his teacher, Simon Burley, translating Latin texts on the back of pages torn from worn-out manuscripts. Burley’s dozing in the corner, but both boys work quietly and efficiently anyway, eager to end the lesson so they can go play until Richard has to meet with the counselors who help him govern England.

"How strange to have a king who is still learning to read and write," he thinks, dipping his quill into the ink pot, glancing at Richard, who stares intently at his work. As he does so, Richard reaches for a fresh sheet of parchment, and their hands collide, sending the ink pot tumbling into Henry’s lap. He leaps up, swallowing swear words he’d instantly unleash on any other cousin, but doesn’t dare use on Richard.

"Richard! Look what you did!"

Richard gapes at the black spot spreading over Henry’s crotch and laughs.

"It’s not funny! You’ve ruined my clothes."

Henry is puffed up with anger, his face is red, hands, balled into fists, there’s a huge, black stain marking a particular region right between his legs, and Richard finds the sight so comical he doubles over with laughter.

Henry’s head feels light and tight, like something’s going to pop inside it. He tries for words several times, but none come out. He feels his hand reach out of its own will and slap Richard hard across the cheek with an open palm.

Richard shrieks and stops laughing. Henry’s arm falls back to his side, petrified. He peeks toward Burley, who, he is relieved to see, has not awoken. He holds his breath while he waits to see what Richard does next. If he tells, Henry will surely be punished harshly for striking the king. Even though the king is rude and clumsy and deserves what he got.

Richard looks more sad than angry.

"I’m sorry about your clothes, cousin."

"The ink was an accident, Richard. But you should have apologized instead of laughing at me."

"I’m sorry for that, too," he says, chastened. "I hope you’re not too mad. You’re one of the only people I can talk to. You’re one of my only friends."

The apology satisfies Henry, but now he feels sorry for Richard. He knows what it’s like to feel lonely and isolated, and it hasn’t occurred to him that his status might make Richard feel that way, too. They stand awkwardly for a moment, just two lonely little boys having a quarrel, before Henry extends his hand toward Richard’s. Richard takes his hand, and Henry speaks softly.

"I’m sorry I hit you. I never want to hurt you again."

****************

Henry hasn’t even noticed that they’ve finished wiping ink off the table as best they can, or that a secretary is busy copying the letter onto clean parchment. Someone’s saying something to him about changing his robe. He can’t quit staring at the stain.


End file.
